


way down we go

by PapaElijah



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Death, Elijah Mikaelson-centric, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentions of Blood, Murder, Prompt Fill, lmfao have fun with this angst, look y'all it's projecting your childhood trauma time, no beta we die like all the female characters on this show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29760951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PapaElijah/pseuds/PapaElijah
Summary: There will be a familiar ache in his heart, and every day, he will pick his bones off the floor and sew them back into the shape of a body, perfecting the image of control, nobility, honour—as if he isn't a coward, running after his brother's redemption to hide from the truth of the man behind that door.(Or, a ficlet in which Elijah Mikaelson finally breaks down the Red Door, reliving the horrors of his vampirism and all the pain he's caused for over a thousand years of his immortal life.)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	way down we go

**Author's Note:**

> uh so i having a bad day and wrote this short lil ficlet about sad! eli (omfg posting two fics in the same MONTH??? who is she???) jflakjfslkajflk lmao this is written for the ‘memory loss’ and ‘bloodlust’ prompt from [xxwritemeastoryxx](https://xxwritemeastoryxx.tumblr.com/)’s two-year blogiversary bingo on tumblr! as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. concrit is welcome and i hope you enjoy uwu <3

The memories move through him like flashes—brief, impossible, bright. His brother's head leaning into his shoulder, moonlight glancing off his brow and cheekbone, making shadows in the hollow of his throat, his thumb brushing over the sheen of red coating his knuckles. A blur of muffled voices and cries and screams, a dull echo in the distance, dropping like stones into the whispering dark. The slowly growing blaze flaring before his eyes as he watches the mirrored burn. Everything but Elijah’s own breath, his pounding heart, his desperate words. He doesn't want to remember. _You created a place in your mind to put your victims, and began to believe that as long as your suit was immaculate and your hands were clean, you could look in a mirror and tell yourself it's all okay. No one need know what's behind that red door_.

His mother wiping away the remnants of blood still staining the corners of his mouth, cupping his face in her hands, telling him it would be okay, it would get better, she can make it all go away. Niklaus crying and calling out his name, his cracked lips failing at the first syllable as Elijah holds his wrists and his father chains him down. Villagers laying half-slumped on their side, heads and hearts strewn across the ground as he caves into himself, hugging his knees and choking out apologies through silent tears, his heart cracking open. More flashes, more glimpses, almost like fever-dreams, swallowed by greyness and the rush of more.

Night will fall, and he’ll find himself holding on to Tatia’s broken body, taking her slack, unconscious face in his hands, resting his forehead against hers as his breath hitches, shaking with half-smothered sobs as he finally breaks down, knowing he could’ve saved her. He’ll find himself watching from a distance with his mouth poised on a question no one will answer, the cold creeping into the crevices of his flesh as Hayley’s ashes drift off into the wind. The voices in his head will grow louder, ancient tears staining his cheeks as the dead lie to rest around him.

There will be a familiar ache in his heart, and every day, he will pick his bones off the floor and sew them back into the shape of a body, perfecting the image of control, nobility, honour—as if he isn't a coward, running after his brother’s redemption to hide from the truth of the man behind that door. Years will turn to decades and decades will turn to centuries, and when he finally drives the stake into Niklaus’s chest, watching as his skin slowly fades to grey, crumbling into ash until he catches fire and burns, he won’t think of the blood on his hands, he won’t think of, he won’t think, he won’t.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! you can also find me on [tumblr](https://dumble-daddy.tumblr.com/), and if you enjoyed, it would mean the world to me if you left a comment or a kudos <3


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